


Control

by HalloweenBae



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Biting, Bondage, Community: hannibalkink, F/M, Light Bondage, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sex, The Ladder Scene (Hannibal), Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, sex with Hannibal, who woudn't want that?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 03:04:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11049966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalloweenBae/pseuds/HalloweenBae
Summary: You are a returning patient of Dr. Hannibal Lecter's, and things get hot and steamy.





	Control

**Author's Note:**

> This is a follow-up I did for Anticipation Is A Powerful Thing, so read that first. Or not. It's your life.

The pop of the heat breaking open the logs echoes in your ears as you sit across from him. Legs crossed, posture perfect, he stares at you with a pen in his hand. His golden eyes match the blaze of the fire kept at bay through the wrought iron cage in the wall. A cage you never noticed until today. A cage that gave his office a much different ambiance than your last few sessions.  


“Thank you for changing your schedule on such short notice, (y/n).” He adjusts himself in his chair and starts to write in his notebook.  


“Of course,” You appease him, although it really wasn’t something you normally do. Your standing appointment with him was on Tuesday at three in the afternoon. That was your day off, and the only time you could find a babysitter for a few hours. But today was not Tuesday, nor was it three o’clock. It was Friday evening at six, and you usually worked at the hospital on Friday nights.  


“Someone came in at the last minute and picked up my shift. What a blessing, huh?” You try not to stare directly at him.  


“A blessing, indeed.” He smiles. “How did it make you feel, having to change your plans so suddenly?”  


“Upset at first,” You confess. You’ve talked to him about how rare and precious your ‘free time’ is. You were surprised he rescheduled for such a late day in the week.  


“And now?” He raises his eyebrows.  


“Now I’m okay, it’s not that big of a deal.”  


Doctor Lecter continues to write. “Last week we touched on the subject of control. Did you feel like you lost it, even for a moment, when I changed your appointment?”  


Of course! Control. Nothing he did was ever by accident. This was all part of your therapy, what Doctor Lecter probably considered equivalent to a trust fall.  


“Yes, I did.” You pause and look around his office. The fireplace makes it so much warmer in here than last time. “I was wondering if I was going to be able to see you again, especially after…” You trail off and remember how he left you at the end of your last session; bent over his desk half naked.  


“After I made you wait.” He finishes your sentence for you. He always had a knack for making the most complex things seem simple. “It’s natural to want to control one’s environment, (y/n), but you must also realize that there is only so much we can do before our environment decides for us.”  


“And you’ve decided for me, then? To make me wait even longer with the instructions you gave me?” You cross your arms over your chest.  


“Have you been following them?” He tilts his head like a curious bird.  


“Yes.” You utter almost instantly.  


You remember what he told you that day, leaning over you as he slid your clothes back on. He ordered you not to touch yourself until your next session, and that he would know if you did. He told you that you would be rewarded if you did as you were told. As if that wasn’t torture enough, that was before he pushed your appointment back three days.  


“Every night? No faltering?” He questions, placing his pen and pad on his table.  


“Every night, I promise.”  


“But you wanted to,” He stands up. “Not having control over what you could do with your body… how did that make you feel?”  


“Excited… frustrated… annoyed.”  


“Enraged?” He steps toward you.  


You nod silently. It took every bit of self-control not to touch yourself after what he did to you last week. The sensation of his hand hitting your flesh sent you swimming. You would close your eyes and try to think of unicorns or math problems, but nothing helped. If you managed to keep your hands away from yourself, you would only end up dreaming about him.  


“Good.” He looks you over greedily and takes a few steps forward. “I told you I’d reward you if you followed my instructions, did I not?” He cups your chin and forces you to look up at him.  


“Yes.” You gulp.  


You keep your eyes on him as he looms over you, his beautiful features even more intense in the evening sunset.  


“Stand up and take off my jacket.” He whispers, letting go of you.  


Your mouth drops open. He’s never let you touch him before, let alone remove and item of his clothing. He was always the one touching you, remaining fully dressed every time the two of you became intimate. You were starting to think that there wasn’t even a body under those clothes after all, that he was born in a three-piece suit.  


You take in a deep breath and stand up like you’re told, your eyes only reaching his chest. You feel your hands begin to shake as you bring them up to his shoulders, placing them on either side of his tie. The fabric of his shirt is stiff from a fresh ironing this morning, but still soft. You push down against it, feeling his strong muscles underneath as you slide his jacket off his arms. Taking care, you gently fold it before placing it on the chair behind you.  


“My vest.”  


You proceed to slowly remove his vest, tie, and belt from him, setting them neatly on the chair. His strong but earthy scent runs through your nose and into your memory. You still aren’t sure which percentage was cologne, and which was his natural scent. You turn back to face him, placing your hands on his collar. You never realized just how small the top button of a man’s dress shirt actually was. Who designs these things, anyways?  


“Do you trust me, (y/n)?” His eyes meet yours.  


“Yes, of course I do.” You usually hate eye contact. But with him it was different. With him it was like you were falling into a deep, warm abyss.  


“I know an exercise that would benefit you.” He wraps his fingers around your wrists, halting your failed work on his top button. “It would require some… submission on your part.”  


“Submission?” You fall even deeper into the abyss as he traces circles on the insides of your wrists.  


“Trust and control go hand in hand, (y/n). You need to be able to relinquish control in a safe environment before you can do it in your everyday life.”  


Your trust issues were the root of your problems, it didn’t take a highly-trained psychologist to figure this out. Letting him try some controversial exercise sounded beneficial, especially if it ended anything like your last session.  


“Okay,” You agree.  


He squeezes your wrists affectionately and smiles before bending behind you to pick up his belt.  


“Hold them both out for me.” He unwinds the belt.  


“Umm, what?”  


“Both of your wrists together, like this.” He put his own together as an example.  


Your eyes are the size of golf balls, his words ringing in your ears. What was he going to do, exactly?  


“You’ll be able to get out of it, if you need to,” He states matter-of-factly.  


“I will?” You look at the belt in his hand and then up at him. As scary as losing control of your hands for a moment would be, leaving here without knowing what could have happened sounds like an even worse fate.  


“I would never harm you, (y/n).” He runs a hand through your hair and strokes your ear. “I promise you that.” His face is calm, his pupils dilated. “But I suggest that you stay in the restraint for the exercise to work properly.”  


You take in, quite possibly, the longest deep breath of your life. You wouldn’t be doing this with anyone else on the planet, you tell yourself. You trust Doctor Lecter, don’t you? 

You nod silently and hold your wrists out for him to bind. 

He smiles at you and wraps his belt around your wrists, pulling it through the notch as far as it can go. You wince as he jerks it tighter before knotting it in an almost nautical loop. It’s beautiful, in its own odd way.  


“Good girl.” He holds your hands in his. “Now, can you wiggle your fingers for me?”  


You unclasp your fingers and wiggle them wildly. He nods and slides two fingers between each wrist. “Can you feel me touching you?”  


“Yes.” Your eyes meet and you realize he is checking for sensation and circulation. Still a medical doctor, after all.  


“If at any time you want me to stop, don’t hesitate to tell me.” He lets go of your hands and lets them fall to your waist. “I want you to step out of your comfort zone, not shut down.”  


“I’ll tell you.” You assure him, making sure that you will tell yourself. You can’t honestly imagine a scenario where you would ever want him to stop touching you.  


“Now, walk over to the ladder and face the door.”  


The ladder… the ladder… where was the ladder again? Right… to your left, where his hand is pointing, of course. You blink at him and start walking. The binding of your hands makes it somehow difficult to put one foot in front of the other. Kind of how you felt it harder to hear people when you took your glasses off. You look up and see the ladder is attached to the balcony on a set of brass tracks to keep it place. The ladder itself is a dark mahogany, wheels on top and bottom to move around the library with ease. You’ve passed by it a dozen times in session before, but you’ve never really noticed it until now.  


“The ladder is an analogy used in several psychological treatments.” He starts for you slowly. “Steps of progression to get you closer to God and away from your addiction are proven to be very effective.” He closes the space between you, forcing you to sit on the third rung.  


“I’m not an alcoholic.” You state, feeling his breath on you.  


“No,” He stands you up and pulls your wrists above your head. You feel him slide another belt in between yours, fastening you to the side of the ladder closest to the window. Where did he get that other belt? Was it already tied to the ladder before you got here? Did he have an extra one in his pocket?  


“But you’re obsessed with being in control. So much so that it paralyzes you from having any real human interaction.” He lets go of your wrists and slides his hands down your arms, sending goosebumps throughout your body. “The Steps work for just about any addiction.”  


“Have they worked for you?”  


He gives you a scolding look and lets his fingers make their way to the hem of your pants. He twirls the black button around in a clockwise direction before pushing it through the tiny slit, baring your midriff. He wraps his hands around your hips and pushes your pants and underwear down at an unbearable pace. You can’t see his face, but you lift your feet up one by one so he can collect your clothes. You watch him stand up and place them on the chair next to his jacket and vest.  


“I want to test the first step with you tonight, (y/n).” He is back in front of you before you know it.  


You feel the tweed of his pants against your skin as he places his leg in between yours. It was thick and soft when you took his jacket off, but now feels rough and abrasive against your inner thigh. You look up at him as he continues to cause friction around your entrance, trying not to protest.  


“I am powerless against my addiction, and my life has become unimaginable.” He runs a hand through your hair and takes a long, slow sniff. “I want you to say this before we continue, (y/n).”  


“I…” He lifts your shirt over your head and ties it around the ladder with the belt. “I am powerless against my addiction,” His leg goes deeper between your legs, and you can feel him begin to grow as he unhooks your bra. He frees your breasts to the open air for the first time in his office. 

He pauses for a second to admire them, making quick work of tying your lingerie to the ladder. “And?”  


“And my life has become unimaginable.” You whisper, feeling more exposed than you have in your entire life.  


“Good.” He places his hand at the base of your neck and tilts your head away from the window. He presses his body against yours as his tongue traces the shape of your ear, sending shivers down your spine. He smiles as you moan, taking your ear inside of his mouth. He bites and pulls, his teeth sharper than you had anticipated, mixing a tinge of pain with pleasure.  


You want to wrap your arms around him and return the favor. To kiss him and taste his flesh. To rip the buttons off his shirt and run your hands all over his smooth and golden skin. You wonder what that would feel like. His naked body against yours, drenched in sweat, each of you as exposed as the other.  


He releases your ear and makes his way down your neck, nipping you here and there to make you gasp along the way. Your chest heaves up and down as the friction between your legs becomes unbearable. You can feel yourself drenching his expensive pants, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He keeps his grip on your neck light but firm as he takes your nipple in his mouth. He looks up at you with eyes so dark, and sucks intently.  


You moan out loud as his tongue runs circles around your breast. Your nipples have always been an important part of your arousal, but none of your lovers have ever seemed to pay them enough attention. You close your eyes as he bites down on it, wanting so badly to run your hands through his hair. You didn’t think having your hands tied would be such a punishment during intimacy, but you understood now. You understood the test of your control. Why he was doing this, instead of any other ‘exercise’. You were always in control of your position, act of intimacy, and how you would orgasm. You had the freedom to tell your past lovers what you wanted and how they needed to do it. All of that was gone now.  


He pulls on your nipple with his teeth, stretching it out while keeping hard eye contact with you. Your breath hitches as your mouth drops open, barely able to contain yourself. You’re surprised you weren’t soaking through his pants and onto the floor by now.  


“You really like that,” He licks his lips and straightens himself out to look at you.  


“Yes.”  


He smirks and slides his hand between your legs, sparing you from the harsh cloth for a moment. His first two fingers slide over you, forcing your body to rock towards him. His thumb presses on your clit, slowly moving it in a circular motion. “You’re doing well, (y/n).” He slides his fingers inside of you, watching your face change. “But you’re not allowed to come until I say so, understand?”  


What a monster. He slides another finger inside of you, deeper than before. The width of his digits forcing you to contract around them, not letting them go. His pace is slow and taunting, sending waves of pleasure up your body with each thrust. You make fists of your hands in their leather trap as you try to contain your bittersweet euphoria.  


“No?” Your breath is getting heavy as he keeps working on you.  


“No.” He leans in so close he could almost kiss you.  


He increases his pace inside of you, making you drip on the lacquered mahogany. You can’t help but keep a steady chorus of moans echoing through his office as he brings you closer to climax. It usually takes ages for someone to bring you there with fingers alone, but something about him heightened your senses ten-fold. He tightens his grip on your throat as you continue to moan, forcing you to look at the ceiling. His hands are so big, just one of them encircles your entire neck. You weren’t sure why you liked this feeling, but you weren’t going to object to it ever again.  


The ladder begins to rock on its tracks as he enters you again and again. Your wrists start to chafe against the leather belt despite your shirt and bra. You find your footing on the ladder and stand up on the first rung, allowing yourself to properly sit on the third one.  


“Doctor Lecter!” Your scream is a muffled whisper.  


“Yes?”  


“Oh my God, I’m so close.” You look at him.  


He smiles wryly and slows the rhythm of his fingers, sliding them out. He loosens his grip on your neck before untying you from the ladder, keeping your restraint in place.  


Your arms drop in front of you as he releases them from their tether. Did you do something wrong? Was that it? Was this going to be like last week? Is this how he gets off, just letting you suffer?  


“Did I…” You start to ask him.  


“Go sit on my desk.” He takes a few steps back to look at you.  


You swallow hard and walk over there. There is nothing on it, which is very unusual. In your past sessions there had been a lamp, a calendar, a sketch pad, a few stray books, and his tablet. He must have really thought this through. You smile to yourself and manage to climb up onto his desk, restraints be damned. You settle yourself and face the window, holding your hands out like a beggar.  


He takes his time walking over to you, sucking your juices off his fingers. He looks down at himself and notices the mess you’ve made on his pants. He smiles and stops in front of you, taking your hands in his, moving them toward his hips. He pushes himself against them, setting them down against the hem of his slacks.  


“Take off my pants.” This order was quicker than the others.  


You stare at his waist. Your wrists were bound facing each other, so you manage to undo his button with relative ease. You undo the zipper to reveal a pair of black boxer briefs. You look up at him, asking permission to pull them down.  


He nods and strokes your hair as you remove both items simultaneously. He moves his hips to help you before his clothing falls to the floor, exposing himself as he’d exposed you moments before. He is beautiful. Standing at full attention, he is thicker than you’d imagined, but still longer than most of your previous lovers.  


You bite your lower lip as you stare at him. He is perfect in every way. His thighs are thick and muscular, and the V of his hips came together magnificently under his belly button. Your first instinct is to lean forward and start to kiss his body, trailing down his stomach before you would…  


He stops you, mid-thought, and pulls you as close to the edge of the desk without falling off. He takes your hands and places them over his head so that your forearms rest on his shoulders. He spreads your legs for you, as far as they can go. He inches toward you, the head of his penis teasing your clit.  


Your brow furrows in pleasure and anticipation. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! This is going to happen, isn’t it? No more games or lessons. The feeling of his tip sliding up and down your soaked entrance is both blissful and tortuous. You are so close to having him inside of you, but powerless to do anything about it. If you move your hips any closer to him, you would surely fall off the desk.  


He bites down on your neck when he decides to enter you fully, pulling a breathy whimper from your lips. His fingers move up the base of your neck and tug on your hair. You close your eyes, relishing this moment as his length and width fill you to capacity. You’d almost forgotten what it feels like to have someone inside of you like this. To have someone so close to you.  


His grip on your hair gets tighter as he increases his speed. The sound of his skin pounding against yours is the only thing you can hear above his deep, heavy breathing. Your legs start to quiver, the sweat from your stomach dripping down between them. You do your best to meet his rhythm as his thrusts send waves of ecstasy through your body. You feel like you could come at any second, and then you remember what he told you. “I’m going to come.” You whisper, his ear right below your lips.  


He pulls your head back and looks at you.  


“Can I come?” You remind him.  


He raises his eyebrows.  


“Please?” You can barely speak. The feeling of him inside of you forces you to clench down. He stretches you completely, entering you forcefully, but spending more time inside of you. He moves his hips in a circular motion, almost sending you over the edge.  


“Come for me, (y/n).” He bites down on your shoulder, so hard in fact, that you feel his sharp teeth break your skin. He pulls you close and continues to thrust into you, sending your pleasure center into overdrive.  


Your body begins to shake as the electric current runs through your core to the tips of your fingers. Your breath hitches and your toes curl. You wrap your thighs around his hips as the most intense wave of bliss washes over you, forcing you to cry out and arch your back. If your hands were free you would be dragging your nails down his back, breaking his skin. But they were still bound, and he was still rocking into you, relentless.  


He’s almost there, you can tell by his intense pace. He lets out a deep growl as he nearly rips your hair from your scalp and erupts inside of you. You don’t care about the consequences right now, and you pull him closer with your thighs and elbows. He sinks into you a few more times as he twitches in between your legs. 

His knees are shaking. His breath is heavy and slow, his eyes making their way up to your face.  


He has never been more beautiful than he is right now. His hair out of place, his lips and cheeks rosy from the blood rushing to his skin. You never imagined you would ever get to see him this vulnerable. Yet here he stands, inside of you still.  


“Thank you.” You whisper.  


He smiles and touches your shoulder where he left his mark. “Thank you.” He circles the indentation with his fingertips. “You’ve completed the first of twelve steps.” He leans over and gently kisses your wound.  


“I have?”  


He takes your hands and lifts them over his head, sliding out of you. “You stayed in your restraint the whole time.” He holds your hands and unties the belt with a flick of his wrist.  


“Yes.”  


“Well, then, that’s progress.” He untangles your bra and shirt that were hanging off your wrists and helps you put them on. “How did it feel not having any control over what I did to you?”  


He bends down and dresses himself before helping you off the desk.  


“I liked it.” You admit.  


“All of it?” He walks over to the chair and hands you your pants and underwear.  


“All of it.”  


He smiles a dark, satisfied smile you haven’t seen before. “Good. Same time next week?”


End file.
